


Turning the Tables

by linndechir



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Crying, Forced Orgasm, Half-Sibling Incest, Humiliation, M/M, Revenge, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-29 17:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11445378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: “I want you to know that this is entirely your fault, brother. Once upon a time, I would have been happy to serve you, if you'd only shown me a little bit of respect. But you had to treat me like the dirt under your shoes. It's not very smart to kick a dog that can rip your throat out.”





	Turning the Tables

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



> You mentioned liking villains being terrible together, dear recip, so I went and ran with that. I hope you enjoy it. :)

His brother was standing by the window. Stripped of all his royal ornaments, of his crown and his silks and his embroidered cloak, without a bejewelled sword on his hip, without a throne to elevate him above all others, he didn't look like much. He certainly didn't look like a king anymore.

He still had the bearing of one, straight-backed, haughty, arrogant. He turned around slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he was a ruler granting his subject an audience rather than a prisoner being visited by his new master.

“Of course it was you,” and he spat out that last word like an insult. “No one else would have dared.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Rtal said. He motioned lazily to the guards to leave them alone, enjoying the thrill of their immediate obedience. As the door closed, he still felt the Karil's solid presence at his back. His brother's eyes looked past him at the general.

“You brought your dog to talk to me? Afraid to face me alone?”

“My dog crushed your armies, so you might want to watch your tone around him.” Not that Karil cared in all likelihood. He'd already won wars when both brothers hadn't even been born yet. He didn't need Natim's respect. He didn't need Rtal's either, but that he enjoyed at least.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Karil settle against the window sill, as relaxed in his armour as other men were in the softest silk. Rtal didn't need him here, but he wanted Karil to see this. He wanted the entire kingdom to see it, if he was quite honest with himself, but there might still be time for that in the future. Once his brother's arrogance and defiance were broken.

“What now? You'll have me executed? Make a spectacle of it?” Natim asked. He was clearly still thinking it was his place to demand answers. 

“As enjoyable as that would be, no.” Rtal grinned, but there was no mirth to it. It was hard to imagine that there'd been a time when he'd loved his brother – his _half_ -brother, as Natim had never once resisted pointing out – a time when he'd wanted to earn his love and his respect. A time when he'd still believed they could co-exist. “You took your time humiliating me over the years, _brother_. The least I can do is return the favour.”

The confused look in Natim's eyes made him laugh. It was only a small crack in that royal facade he so desperately tried to maintain, but it was merely the first of many. Rtal had no intention of leaving this room before he hadn't taken him apart.

He glanced back at Karil, and knowing that he was watching them, that he was watching this, was almost as dizzying as doing it at all. Solid, dependable Karil, with a hint of amusement in his grey eyes and his hand on a dagger. Rtal turned back to his brother, made a step closer towards him, and then slapped him hard across the face.

He could have punched him, could have beaten him bloody, but despite what Natim had always claimed, he wasn't a brutish commoner. He was a king, dealing with someone who was below him. He wouldn't beat him like a man, he'd slap him like an unruly child. He followed the first slap up with one on the other cheek, a sharp sting that drew a startled grasp from Natim.

He'd always been stronger than his brother, taller too – something Natim had put on his mother's “peasant blood”. It served Rtal well now when he grabbed Natim by his undershirt and yanked him towards the bed – he might throw him into a dungeon later, but for now he rather enjoyed doing this in his brother's royal chambers, amidst all the luxuries he'd always flaunted. Natim fought back, but he'd never been much of a warrior. Had never been much of anything really other than full of himself. 

Rtal pushed him onto his knees by the bed, then put his booted foot on his brother's chest, forcing him to bend backwards.

“Hands off,” he snapped when Natim tried to push him away, and whether it was the vulnerable position or his tone, for once his brother obeyed him. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Natim snarled up at him. The rage in his eyes was still real, even as he scrambled to keep his balance at least somewhat when Rtal pushed him further down. His booted foot slid up to Natim's chest, nudging against his chin, carelessly cutting off his air supply.

“Whatever I want,” he said. “That's what kings do – you taught me that, remember?”

He'd pictured this moment so often that it was hard to decide now what he wanted to do most. He wanted to see Natim grovelling in front of him, licking his boots, begging for scraps, but getting him to that point would require some harsher punishment first. He wanted to make him choke on his cock, use his mouth like the cheapest gutter whore, but for that he'd have to teach him first to behave according to his new station. He was half tempted to throw him to his soldiers and let them all have a go at him, but for the time being he felt possessive – he wasn't going to let anyone else have their fun before he'd had his. 

For a little while he amused himself making Natim choke – pushed his boot against his throat until Natim opened his mouth like a fish on land, then let him gulp down a greedy breath before pushing down again. Even his brother's seemingly undefeatable arrogant expression didn't last for long when he couldn't breathe, and after that Rtal got bored with this particular little game. He leant down to look into Natim's eyes, found them glassy and wide. Tears, he realised. His proud royal brother was tearing up. 

“Don't tell me that's already too much for you to take,” Rtal said. He heard a low, familiar chuckle at his back that only encouraged him further. “I want you to know that this is entirely your fault, brother. Once upon a time, I would have been happy to serve you, if you'd only shown me a little bit of respect. But you had to treat me like the dirt under your shoes. It's not very smart to kick a dog that can rip your throat out.”

He ran his fingertips over Natim's face while holding his chin firmly with the other hand to keep him from flinching away. They looked somewhat alike, if you knew what to look for – the same sharp cheekbones, the same green eyes, the same black hair. But Natim's skin was almost transparently pale from a life lived in palaces, while Rtal's was darkly tanned. And Natim's lips were full enough to make any woman jealous, full enough to give any man ideas. Rtal ran his thumb over those pretty lips, rubbed harshly over them until Natim parted them as if he could escape him that way. And Rtal could get used to those gagging sounds his brother made when he pushed two fingers between his lips, the other hand still holding on to Natim's jaw so he couldn't bite down. He shoved them in deep enough to make him gag again, felt the wet heat of his tongue against his fingertips, the way his pretty lips strained around the intrusion.

“I always thought you had a mouth like a whore.”

He pulled his fingers out, slapped him again, then grabbed him by the shoulders to turn him around. Natim struggled, but Rtal manhandled him easily enough, made him bend over the bed. As if Natim had finally caught on what it was Rtal was planning to do to him, he didn't stop fighting back now, squirmed and struggled until Rtal grabbed both his wrists in frustration to hold him still.

He heard heavy boots behind him, and then Karil's hand – broad and scarred and so intimately familiar – handed him a piece of rope. Rtal didn't thank him – a king didn't need to thank his subjects for anything – but he let their fingers touch briefly when he took the rope and tied Natim's wrists tightly behind his back. Karil's hand came to rest on his shoulder – always steadying him, never holding him back.

“Don't you dare touch me, you deviant,” Natim snarled, but his anger sounded helpless now. It wouldn't surprise Rtal if up until now he'd still waited for a miracle to save his skin and his crown, to punish his bastard brother for rising up against him. Now that the reality began to sink in, there was fear in his glassy eyes when he glared back over his shoulder. It made Rtal harder than those pretty lips had.

“You should thank me it's only me touching you.” Rtal smiled at him, sweetly. He didn't bother undressing either himself or his brother, only shoved Natim's shirt up and yanked his breeches down far enough to bare his arse. “For now.”

He'd been at the receiving end of this, albeit of his own accord, often enough to know it could be more than a little uncomfortable without a bit of slick, but then he wasn't here to make his brother _comfortable_. He pulled his hard cock out of his breeches and slicked himself up with a bit of spit, more for his own sake than for his brother's. Karil's hand squeezed his shoulder.

Natim was almost unbearably tight when Rtal thrust into him, forcing himself into his unmarred body. He stayed quiet himself so he wouldn't miss the whimpers and sobs from Natim's lips, drank up every sound of desperation and pain greedily when he buried himself in him.

He grabbed Natim's throat again to make him turn his head, and his brother's eyes were desperately clenched shut as if that could hide the shame on his face, or the tears that were running over his cheeks now. Rtal caught one tear with his thumb and rubbed it over Natim's lips, making them glisten.

“You look good like this,” he said and laughed breathlessly, his hips snapping forward, the slap of flesh against flesh followed by another pained whimper. “Better than with a crown. Are you sure you weren't the one sired in a brothel?”

He reached around him with his other hand to grab Natim's cock – he'd only meant to squeeze it a few times to hurt him, to drive home just how powerless Natim was. He hadn't expected his brother's cock to start filling in his hand, the pain in his expression mingling with renewed shame. Rtal was too out of breath to do more than laugh at him, laugh at him and fuck him harder while he squeezed and stroked his cock. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with Natim that he'd enjoy this, but then he didn't care for the why, only cared for the humiliated despair on his brother's face, for the way he tried in vain to keep his moans to himself, the way he tried to turn his head away. 

Natim's voice sounded like he was breaking apart when he came, his eyes opening in shame and disbelief like he expected to wake up from a bad dream, and that _look_ in his eyes was all it took to send Rtal over the edge, too. He raised his right hand to Natim's face, smeared the shameful proof of what a _deviant_ he was over his pale skin, shoved his sticky fingers into Natim's mouth again to make him taste himself, too. He was still shaking from his own pleasure, dizzy and light-headed until he felt a rough thumb stroking over the back of his neck, the warm touch grounding him.

Rtal turned his head to the side to lean his cheek against Karil's hip, still watching his brother's face out of the corner of his eye. His eyes were pressed shut again, his face was wet with sweat and tears and come, and he was gagging helplessly around Rtal's fingers. 

"Do you want to use him, too?" he asked once he had enough breath in his lungs for words. Karils fingers kept stroking the back of his neck.

"Maybe some other time," he said finally, as if he'd had to think about it for a moment. "After what we accomplished today I'd rather have you." 

Rtal smiled, pulled his fingers out of Natim's mouth to pat his cheek instead. 

"What a pity, hm? I bet you would have enjoyed that, as much as you seem to love getting fucked." He laughed again, then made himself pull out of his brother with a sigh. Karil's hands steadied him when he rose to his feet, while Natim slumped to the floor, curling up, trying to cover himself but barely managing to move. An amusing enough sight while Rtal tucked himself in, but he was somewhat disappointed that he brother didn't have the wherewithal to snap more impotent threats at him, or maybe to beg for mercy. He'd have to teach him the latter next time. 

"Well, if you don't need him for anything tonight, let's go," he said and looked up at Karil, savouring the amused approval in his eyes almost as much as he'd appreciated his brother's whimpering and moaning. 

Karil bowed his head in acquiescence, falling into step behind him while his pathetic brother writhed on the floor in a heap of misery. Everything was finally as it should be.


End file.
